


In for a Pound

by MichiganBlackhawk



Series: Trio AU [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichiganBlackhawk/pseuds/MichiganBlackhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trio investigates a strange murder in Chicago, one that brings together Meg, daevas, John Winchester, and a neromancer. Takes place during the first season episode "Shadow."</p><p> </p><p>Revised version updated 5/23/2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean got out of the car, tugging at his uniform jumpsuit. It was too tight in the shoulders, making him feel like someone or something was pulling at him with each step he took. He went to the trunk, popping it open and taking out the toolbox they’d put together beforehand. In amongst the standard tools—pliers, cable stripper, screwdrivers—was a rag wrapped around the EMF meter and a small flat case with Jayme’s all-purpose scanning device. He shut the trunk lid, moving around and back onto the sidewalk to join Sam, who was dressed in an identical jumpsuit. Each of them had a patch on their chests to identify them as employees of the alarm company whose system had been installed in the apartment of the victim, a young woman who had been brutally murdered, the circumstances of which had led them to Chicago.

“Dad and me did just fine without these stupid outfits,” he grumbled. “I feel like a high school drama dork. What was that play you were in, Sam? Our Town?”

“Then does that make me Emily and you George?” Jayme said, coming up behind them. She wore the same company logo on the left breast of her dark blue blazer, her blouse, skirt, leather-bound notebook, and swept back hair making her look much more severe than either of them were used to seeing.

“Jayme, this thing is too damn tight,” Dean said.

“Oh quit your bitching. It’s just for a little bit and then you never have to wear it again. If John Entwistle could wear a leather skeleton suit on stage for two hours that was so tight he couldn’t bend without becoming a permanent soprano, you can put up with this for an hour.”

Sam snickered. “Guess the boss told you, Dean.”

“Oh shut up.”

The argument over who was going to be the supervisor had gone on for nearly two hours, Jayme finally pointing out that since it was her money paying for the officialty, she got to decide who was what. Sam found himself agreeing that neither of them could quite project the confident authority that Jayme was capable of producing when she felt like it. Dean finally gave in, his bad mood not improving with the ill fit.

Once they got inside the building, finding the landlady to be a tough, prickly old bird, even Dean was happy to let Jayme handle her. They entered the apartment, Jayme keeping up the smooth patter that was somewhere in the region of a PR manager trying to smooth over a bad situation. 

“You’re their boss?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am. These are the best technicians we could find on such short notice. Not my best, mind you, but they’re serviceable enough.” She met Dean’s sharp look with a lazy smirk.

“No offense, but your alarm’s about as useful as boobs on a man.”

“Depends on the man,” Jayme said. “In any case, we’re here to determine exactly what went wrong and ensure that it never happens again with any of our fine range of products and services.”

“You found the body?” Sam asked, before Jayme could get too involved in the part and start a sales pitch.

The landlady confirmed that she had, not immediately, but several days later after the victim’s work reported her missing. No sign of a break in, nothing stolen, broken, or even moved, the chain still latched, alarm still on, and Meredith, the dead young woman, ripped to pieces as if by a wild animal.

“I’m very sorry for the horrible situation,” Jayme said. “Would it be all right if we look around? Check all of the alarm settings and connections?”

The landlady only shrugged. “Knock yourself out. Hope you ain’t working on commission, honey.”

“For a minute there I thought you were gonna try to sell her something,” Dean said after the landlady had left. 

“Hey, I had to be convincing, didn’t I?” she said. “I can lay on a thick pile of bullshit with the best. So, where are we?”

“We have a killer who can apparently walk into an apartment without leaving any prints or tracks, no sign of any weapons.”

“Jayme, I hate to ask, but do neromancers have any way of entering a building or room without breaking in?” Sam asked.

“Way ahead of you,” she said, pulling her scanner out of the toolbox. “We do, but not without leaving a trace.” She turned it on. “Our transporter technology is seamless only where Earth tech is concerned. If any of my people were here this will tell me.” She waited a few moments. “Nothing, other than an electromagnetic echo that Dean’s little toy there already picked up.”

Sam turned to Dean. “Did you talk to the cops?”

Dean smirked. “Yeah, I spoke with Amy. Charming, perky officer of the law.”

“And?”

“Well, she’s a Sagittarius. She loves tequila, I mean—oh, and she’s got this little tattoo—”

Jayme walked by, popping him with her notebook. “Focus, will you?”

Dean glared at her, rubbing the back of his head. “Right. Nothing we didn’t know, except one thing. Her heart was missing.”

“Definitely not a neromancer,” Jayme said. “What the hell would we do with it?”

“I don’t wanna know,” Dean said. “Maybe a werewolf?”

“Lunar cycle’s not right,” Sam answered. “A creature would leave a trace. Maybe a spirit.”

Dean frowned at the carpet, studying the patches of dried blood. “Got any masking tape?”

Ten minutes later and part of a roll of tape later, the carpet sported a strange symbol, an ellipsis with two curving lines.

“Ever see anything like that before?” Sam asked, his question one for the room.

“Never,” Dean said.

“Looks like a stylized representation of a galaxy, with the center and the curving arms, sort of,” Jayme said. “Yeah, I got nothing.”

 

 

After leaving the apartment, they checked into an older hotel in town, doing research until dead ends drove them out in search of something to drink and a break from four walls. Dean and Jayme headed out, Sam promising to catch up. An hour later he finally abandoned the search, going out and down to the corner bar after calling Jayme for directions.

He went in, giving himself a moment to adjust to the scene. He spotted Jayme first, over at a table off to one side. He went over, sitting next to her. “Where’s Dean?”

She pointed with her beer bottle. “Right over there. He’s been talking to the girl with the double-D IQ all friggin’ night.”

Sam looked at her. While Jayme certainly didn’t qualify as a feminist, talking in such a sexist manner wasn’t her usual style. “What?”

“Look at her. What does she have that I don’t? Oh, right, a shirt that’s so low you could drop a quarter in there and win a prize.”

“Jayme—”

“Forget it. He can spend time with whoever he wants, what the hell do I care?” She finished her beer. “Find anything?”

“Nothing,” Sam said as Dean sat down. “Did you get anything besides her number, Dean?”

“Dude, I’m a professional. I’m offended that you would even think—”

“Give it a rest, horndog,” Jayme said. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Dean held up a napkin with a phone number on it, grinning.

“Try thinking with your upstairs brain for once,” Sam said.

“What? There’s nothing to find out. Meredith worked here, waiting tables. Everyone liked her, she was normal, didn’t do anything weird, the end. What about that symbol, any luck?”

“None. I’ll have to keep searching.”

“What about the first vic?”

Jayme pulled out a newspaper clipping. “Gave Frank a call and asked him to check. Died the same as Meredith; mutilated in his town house, door locked, alarm on, and no the alarm company wasn’t the same. I made sure to ask. No connection between him and Meredith. He was a rich banker.”

“So in other words the only intel we have is the bartender’s phone number.” Dean smirked; Jayme only glared, her expression hinting that she was calculating what it would take to force-feed the napkin to him. Sam shook his head, not sure whether refereeing or just watching would be more satisfying, then paused. He tilted his head, then got up, heading for another table while Dean called after him.

It couldn’t be. Of course it couldn’t. He’d go over, and it would be someone else, and he’d apologize for the mistake and go back to listen to Dean and Jayme snarking at each other.

Instead he drew within sight of the blond head, then touched the girl’s shoulder. Instead of a stranger, it was—

“Meg?”

She looked up, then smiled in surprise. “Sam!”


	2. Chapter 2

“What the hell is he doing?” Dean said, craning his neck to see.

“Same thing you’re always badgering him to do,” Jayme said. “Homing in on a chick.”

“It’s more than that,” Dean said. “Looks like he knows her.” He got up, heading over to Sam, Jayme trailing behind him. She took advantage of the crowd and the obscurity of Dean’s taller form to scope out the girl Sam was talking to; she was blond, petite, very pretty, and she made Jayme’s teeth ache. The urge to bite was overwhelming as they drew close enough to hear the conversation, the two chatting about where she’d been, Sam sounding happily confused, Dean waiting in vain for Sam to introduce him and finally clearing his throat.

“Dude, cover your mouth!” the girl said.

Jayme leaned to the side, putting on her most fake smile. “Ex _cus_ e me? Hi, I’m Jayme, and who are you, exactly?”

The eyes that met hers didn’t feel right. It wasn’t something Jayme would have been able to explain to Sam or Dean even if she had a week, but a half century of studying humans, looking into their eyes that were so alike and still so different, gave her a very good perspective on the human gaze.

This girl, whoever she was, was a good faker but the eyes were all wrong.

“Meg. Sam and I met a few weeks back.”

“Right. This is Jayme, and this is my brother, Dean,” Sam said.

“Oh, this is Dean! The one who treats you like luggage!”

Jayme growled, a sound deep in her chest that was inaudible thanks to the bar sounds. “Oh, I’m sorry! And just how the fuck do you know anything about anything?” she said, her perky tone of voice and smile contrasting the dangerous look in her eyes.

“I don’t know, maybe when Sam was telling me all about it. If you’re so chummy with them maybe you should have noticed by now!”

“Noticed? I’ll give you noticed, you little b—”

“Awkward!” Dean said, taking Jayme by the shoulders and steering her away before the claws could come out. “I think we’re gonna go get a drink, huh?” He shoved her. “What the hell was that about?”

“Should have let me hit her,” Jayme said. “I bet I could have gotten some air time with her head.”

“Jaymes, that is not the worst I’ve been insulted,” he said. “No reason to use her head for a game of handball.”

“Just that little smirk on her stupid little face and—did you just call me Jaymes?”

Dean blinked. “I guess so, yeah?”

“I kinda like it.” She looked over her shoulder. “Oh my God he’s getting the bitch’s _number_.” 

“Would you relax? You sound like a jealous girlfriend, for God’s sakes.” Dean glanced over his shoulder as Sam headed towards them; behind him, Meg gave Dean and Jayme a little teasing wave, the same smirk on her face. Jayme spun, her hair smacking him in the face, and stormed out of the bar, flinging the door open so hard it banged against the wall. Dean gestured to Sam as he ran to follow.

“Ooh, she is _sassy_ when she’s mad, huh?” Dean nudged his brother as they picked up the pace, trying to keep up with Jayme’s furious stride as she stomped back to the car.

“Dean, don’t start,” Sam said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Meg wasn’t following them.

“Man, I thought she was going to go full-on Zha-zha—”

“Dean, later!”

Dean winked and grinned, then lunged past Sam, grabbing Jayme before her nails could touch the car. “Whoa there!” He held her wrists firmly, moving her hands away from Baby. “Let’s not take it out on my paint job, huh?” He looked to his right. “See? Here’s a nice brick wall you can claw, okay?”

Jayme growled, raking her claws down the brick. Dean winced. “Damn, you could start a fire with friction like that.” He turned to Sam. “Now. Who in the hell was that girl?”

Sam looked a lot less enthusiastic than Dean did when he’d just scored a hot girl’s number. “I don’t know. I mean, I met her a few weeks ago but meeting her again, here? It’s weird.”

“And just what was all that she was saying? I treat you like luggage? What were you doing, having a bitchfest about me to some stranger?”

“Look, it was right after we had that huge fight and I went off on my own. I met her at a bus stop—well, after we met on the side of the road and she ditched me—and we sorta got to talking.”

“About how I drag you around against your will,” Dean said, crossing his arms.

“That’s not it, okay? Would you listen for a minute?”

“To what?”

“There’s something strange going on here!”

Dean shrugged. “I know. She wasn’t even into me.”

Sam glared. “I mean like our kind of strange. I meet her weeks ago in another state and now I just happen to run into her in a bar in Chicago, the same one where one of its waitresses was murdered by something supernatural?”

“Her eyes were all wrong,” Jayme said.

“Her what?”

“Didn’t you notice her eyes? She wasn’t looking at you in a friendly way, Sam. She looked like she wanted to eat you.”

“That’s my boy!” Dean said, grinning. “Oh come on, Sam. Don’t tell me you’re thinking too much with your upstairs brain.”

Jayme turned around, crossing her arms. “I’d like to kick her until her head rolls upstairs.”

Sam looked at her. “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t know, but she’d like to scratch your girlfriend’s eyes out,” Dean said.

“She’s not my g—look, would you two check and see if there’s a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts, and keep digging for that symbol, huh?”

“And what are you going to be doing?”

“I’m going to watch her.”

Dean let a slow, lazy smirk settle in on his face. “Of course you are.”

“It’s not like that. I’m just going to see what’s what with her. Gimme your keys.”

“Yeah, sure, you little pervert,” Dean said, handing them over. “Just don’t get any stains on my seats.”

“And stay out of the back seat. I have to live there,” Jayme said.

“Bite me, both of you,” Sam said.

 

 

“So tell me. Which is it? Jealousy, or are you just hormonal and looking for a catfight?”

Jayme looked over at Dean. “I beg your pardon?”

“That whole thing back at the bar.”

She shrugged, looking back at the screen of the device in her lap, which wasn’t quite a laptop but seemed to work just as well, its flat screen responding to barely a touch from her claw tips. “I don’t like the way she talked to you. I don’t like the way she was looking at Sam. I don’t like _her_.”

“Well, you’ll get no argument from me.” He looked back at his own computer screen, sneaking another glance at Jayme. She was sprawled out, barefoot in jeans and a tank top, occasionally stopping to scrawl something on the notepad next to her. He’d never admit it to anyone, but having her stick up for him felt kinda good, good enough to risk putting up with any of Sam’s teasing about her being his guard dog. Cat. Neromancer. Whatever. “Any luck?”

“She’s in the phone book. Name checks out, and I even found her high school yearbook photo. Hairstyle’s a little different but it’s definitely her.”

“You might have been wrong about her, then.”

She frowned. “Maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time, but I’m usually not this off. Any luck with that symbol?”

“Yeah. Caleb was able to fill me in.” He picked up his phone, dialing Sam.

Jayme focused on her work, listening with half an ear as Dean talked to Sam, filling him in on what they’d found out in between teasing him about being a stalker. They were dealing with a daeva, a Zoroastrian demon, something ancient and powerful that hadn’t been seen in millennia. Something that couldn’t be seen or felt, and was unruly and nasty to boot. 

She went back to the police reports of the victims, frowning. Dean and Sam both had told her that supernatural creatures followed patterns. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Noob question time. How far do you stretch connections?”

“Until they break?”

“Har har. Seriously. How far do you stretch plausibility?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was going over the records of the two victims. You said these things happen in patterns. There are connections. They aren’t just random, like with ordinary humans, right?”

“Usually, yeah.”

“So this Meredith girl and the banker dude. Two totally different people killed by the same thing. Doesn’t seem to be any connection based on who they are, right?”

“Right.”

“So how far do you go to make a connection? Like, how far until it becomes a stretch?”

“Hey, here’s an idea. Why don’t you just tell me what you found and let me decide if it’s too far.”

“Both of them were from the same town.”

“Okay . . . ?”

“Lawrence, Kansas.”


	3. Chapter 3

The ‘zus’ had barely left her lips when Dean was up from the table like a shot. “What?”

She touched a few places on the screen, translating everything to English. “Sorry to circumvent your tequila tattooed beauty, but I asked Frank to send these to me. We missed it the first time around. She was adopted, originally from Lawrence. Guy was born there. That is more than mere coincidence, I’m guessing.”

“You’re guessing right,” Dean said. “When Sam gets back we’ll see what he has and maybe figure out what the hell is going on.” He sat back down at the table, lapsing into silence.

She traced a command on her screen, watching the Katarinian text slide up. There was so much she didn’t know, so many things Dean and Sam talked about as naturally and casually as other humans would discuss the weather. Dean might not have known about the daevas himself, but he knew where to go for the answer, he had a foundation to work from. She’d barely touched their father’s journal, so many of his notations were incomprehensible to her. Sam was trying to help, but there wasn’t always time and their kind of hunting didn’t have a textbook.

In addition to her regular reports, which were necessarily shorter than usual during her period of adjustment, she’d started requesting information her people had collected over the millennia about anything supernatural, strange, or out of the ordinary. Explaining that they were relevant to her current occupation eliminated many of the questions that might have come up, but it was just a matter of time before someone started asking questions. The fundamentals of tracking and analysis were one thing, but this wasn’t a context she was prepared for.

“Awful quiet over there.”

“Yeah . . . just sorting through junk. I ask for information on demons and it gives me garbage about demonitization.”

Dean looked over at her. “What are you using? Google?”

“Heh, not exactly. Google doesn’t translate into Katarinian.”

He got up. “Whoa, you’re tapping into neromancer databases?”

“Can’t hurt.”

Dean came over to the bed, sitting down next to her. “What the hell is that?” he said, squinting at the tangled symbols on the screen.

“That’s my native tongue, Dean. Base characters with accents, same versatility as your alphabet. I can teach you if you want.”

“Thanks, but I have a hard enough time with English,” he said. “Is it left to right or right to left?”

“Neither. We read from the bottom up.”

“The bottom—” Dean turned his head, trying to look at it upside down. Jayme rolled her eyes, shoving him off the bed.

“Hey, now, I thought you were supposed to defend me,” he said.

“When you’re not being a dipstick, sure,” she said.

“C’mon, am I really that bad?” he said, getting to his knees.

Jayme leaned over onto her elbow. “Come here.” She waited until he’d leaned in, reaching out to lightly grasp his chin, turning his head this way and that. “Eh, you’re okay.”

“Okay? Just okay? Man, I’m getting shot down all over tonight.”

“That bartender seemed into you. One out of three ain’t bad. And I never said no. You just never asked.”

“And what would you say if I did?” he asked, smirking.

“I’d ask you if you knew what you were getting yourself into, going after the older woman.”

“You don’t look like an older woman, and you don’t act like it either. Besides, I thought you said we’re the same age.”

“You flatterer you,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. 

He pulled back, looking her in the eye. “If you’re gonna kiss, do it right. I’m not a little kid.”

“Are you sure?”

His immediate denial died on his lips as he looked at her. She wasn’t human, but she wasn’t ugly either. Quite the opposite—her large eyes, sensual lips, the lovely way her eyebrows arched—

Just as their lips were about to touch, Sam burst into the room. “Dude, I gotta t—what are you two doing?”

Jayme and Dean drew back from each other as if repelled. “Nothing,” Jayme said. “He had something in his eye.”

“So you were gonna suck it out of his mouth?” Sam asked.

“What is it, Sam?” Dean asked, getting to his feet.

Sam filled them both in on what he’d observed while following Meg, from her home to an empty warehouse where he’d observed her in front of an alter, speaking into an ornate bowl to an unknown person or thing, and that the Zoroastrian symbol had been written on the altar in blood.

“So your hot little girlfriend is summoning the daevas,” Dean said, fighting a smile.

“And I thought I was the bad girl,” Jayme said.

“Would you two focus?” Sam said. “She was talking into that bowl like the way witches talk into crystal balls or animal entrails. She was talking to someone.”

“To the daevas?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “Doubful. You said they’re savage, just as likely to attack the person who summons them. This was somone else, someone she’s taking orders from, who’s coming to that warehouse.”

“From Lawrence?” Jayme asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” Dean said. “We took another look at those victim records. Turns out they’re both originally from Lawrence, Kansas.”

“Holy crap,” Sam said.

“You said it.”

“Do you think this has something to do with the demon? I mean, Lawrence is where it all started. Do you think Meg has something to do with it?”

“Possibly. I say we trash that altar, grab Meg, and have a nice little interrogation. Jayme can gnaw on her legs until she talks.”

“No,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “We shouldn’t tip her off until we find out who’s coming to meet her.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “But we shouldn’t be doing this alone. We’ll need help.”

“You _have_ help,” Jayme said, spreading her arms.

“I mean someone who knows things,” Dean said. At Sam’s and Jayme’s sharp looks he added, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?” Jayme said.

“Tell me that you know more about supernatural stuff than our dad and I won’t call him.”

Jayme reached into her pocket. “Here. Use my phone.”

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Dean only got Dad’s voicemail. Again. That didn’t leave much room for hope that Dad would respond this time any more than he had when they were back at the old house in Lawrence. But there was still a chance that maybe this time the man would actually listen to his damn messages.

Sam and Jayme came back in, each carrying a bag that Dean knew without having to ask were full of weapons. “Voicemail?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. So, what exactly is left in the trunk?”

“Not much,” Sam replied. “I brought everything I could think of and Jayme’s _nahya_.”

“Big night,” Dean said as they unpacked the bags, checking their guns and making sure each was loaded.

“You nervous?”

“No. Are you?”

Sam shook his head. “No way. Can you imagine if we find that demon _tonight_? What if it was all over? I’d sleep for a month, go back to school, be a person again.”

Dean glanced over at Jayme, who met his gaze with a lack of expression. She nodded, picking up her blade. “I’m gonna go see if I can’t find where my whetstone vanished to. Could use some sharpening.” She left the room, easing the door closed behind her.

“You want to go back to school?” Dean asked. Of course Sam did; that’s all he ever talked about once the subject came up—being ‘normal’.

“Yeah, once we’re done hunting this thing. Why? Something wrong with that?”

“No, it’s great. Good for you,” Dean said, inwardly cringing at the complete lack of sincerity in his voice. 

“Well, what are you going to do when it’s all over?”

Dean shook his head. “It’s never going to be over, Sam. There’s always going to be something to hunt.”

“Don’t you want something for yourself? Something different?” 

There was only one answer to that question, and it was one that Dean didn’t have to think about for more than a second. “Yeah. I don’t want you taking off the second this is over.” And with that it all came pouring out; he hadn’t gotten Sam from Stanford just because Dad was in trouble. He wanted them to be a family again.

“We are,” Sam said. “That won’t ever change. But things will never be the way they were.”

If only Sam knew how much those words were like knives. Red hot knives. But Dean wasn’t sure it would have made a difference. “Could be,” he said.

“I don’t want them to be,” he heard Sam say. “I’m not going to live this life forever, Dean. When it’s over, you have to let me go my own way. And besides—you have Jayme now. She’s catching on fast and I think she’ll make a hell of a hunter. She seems to like this life and you. No idea why.”

“It’s not the same thing, Sam, and you know it. She’s okay, I guess, but . . . she’s not you.” How could he make Sam understand that it wasn’t about hunting? It was about having his family with him. No matter how loyal or fierce Jayme was, no matter what kind of difference having her along made, she could never compare to Sam. The thought didn’t come as easily as he expected, but it was still the truth.

 

 

Outside, Jayme moved away from the door, letting out the breath she’d been holding. She slammed her fist into her thigh repeatedly, ignoring the pain as her claws dug into her palm. Their story had come to her piecemeal over the course of a month; a sentence here, a few words there, a partial picture over there. It hit entirely too close to home for her now—a mother killed by a malevolent force, but in their case that force was still out there, taunting them just by its presence. Hers had been dispatched, the book closed on Ahma’s death with almost surgical precision. When she’d finally realized the road Sam and Dean had been on she wanted it to end for them with just as much finality. But maybe Dean was right; it would never be over. Killing one demon, no matter how powerful, wouldn’t chase away the darkness for everyone.

Still, it was pretty clear that Sam wanted out, and she was certainly no replacement. Knowing that didn’t make hearing Dean say it sting any less, but it was the truth and the truth often sucked. Wanting to fill that gap even just for Dean’s sake wouldn’t make it happen, neither would wishing make the prospect of their journey coming to an end change the way either of them felt. 

It was typical, and something she’d been repeatedly warned about when it came to Earth; things moved much faster and changed in the blink of an eye. What she’d never told anyone, not even Ahma, was that with focus and concentration she had been able to adjust to the faster pace, feeling seconds pass in Earth time, rather than Katarinian. Years felt like years, days felt like days.

And that it still didn’t make any difference when it came to things ending.

She looked down at the blade in her hand. “Well, if the party’s gonna end tonight, might as well go out with a bang.”


	4. Chapter 4

The ride to the warehouse was silent and tense, none of the trio speaking as they got close. Jayme pulled her hair back with a loose tie that would give way if needed, checking her blade along with her nerves. None of the previous situations had rattled her this hard, but then again, none of them had involved something this heavy.

They parked around the corner and armed themselves, moving into the warehouse as silently as cats. Sam led them into the empty elevator shaft that led up to the top floor.

“Man, we gotta climb that whole thing?” Dean hissed.

“Come on, you wimp,” Jayme said, poking him. “Afraid of being beaten by a girl?” She grabbed onto the gate, hoisting herself up.

Sam just grinned, watching Dean leap after her. She’d been with them barely over a month and already she knew how to push all of his brother’s buttons. He climbed after them, easily moving into stealth mode. He could still hear his dad in his head, all the drills and military maneuvers, weapons training, tactics, all the things that had taken the place of sports and extracurriculars in his life. When other kids were going out for football, he had been learning to take a gun apart and put it back together in seconds.

He looked up at Jayme’s almost invisible form, easily scaling the shaft. From their conversations, it sounded like she’d had a similar upbringing, learning to hunt and fight from an early age, but she didn’t seem to regret or resist it. It was a part of her, something she wore with an ease that he privately envied.

He shoved the thoughts away. If tonight went as he hoped, he wouldn’t have to worry about it ever again.

They reached the top, Jayme moving to one side to give Sam and Dean room. Meg was standing before the altar just as Sam had described, speaking a language neither of them recognized. Sam looked at Jayme, who shook her head. Dean gestured to Sam, who was nearest the opening. They moved silently, easing through and up, drawing their guns and moving back, Jayme following, blending into the shadows as efficiently as any daeva.

“Guys. And girl. Hiding’s a little childish, isn’t it?” Meg said, not turning around.

Dean looked at Sam and Jayme. “This is not how I planned it.” He saw Jayme tense, recognizing the way she stiffened in preparation to change. “No,” he whispered. “Don’t.”

She looked at him, questioning, but said nothing.

“Why don’t you come out?” Meg said. “Sam, this is putting a crimp in our relationship.”

Sam stepped out, his shotgun still leveled at her. “No kidding.”

“Where’s your little daeva friend?” Dean asked, his own gun trained on Meg.

“Around. That shotgun won’t do you any good.”

Dean felt a hard smile pass over his face, a grimace, a leer that was as dark as he felt. Maybe not letting Jayme tear into Meg had been a mistake. Right now he was only too prepared to rectify that. “Shotgun’s not for the demon, sweetheart.”

Sam had just asked Meg who she was waiting for, getting the answer that she had been waiting for them all along, when Jayme caught movement to her left. She turned, seeing a glimpse of a hooded head and arm before something hit her in the face, a flare of white-hot pain shooting across her cheek. Then she was airborne, flying over Dean’s head and into a nearby post.

“Jayme!” Sam shouted, turning into the invisible hand that slammed into him, knocking him flat. He heard something large smash into a pile of crates behind him, Dean’s cry confirming who had landed.

All thoughts of Dean were chased away as something wrenched his arm back, twisting him around so the daeva could deliver another blow, one that ripped his cheek open a split second before his head slammed into the floor, knocking him cold.

 

 

Words came to her through a long tunnel, snatches of conversation about bitches, set-ups, victims, Lawrence . . . a trap for Dad. She fought the urge to sink back down into warm blackness, forcing her eyes open. Sam and Dean were sitting against two of the posts, hands bound behind their backs. They were both bleeding and looked torn between confusion and rage. She tested her own bonds, finding them tight but not unmanageable.

More importantly—there was nothing around her neck.

“Oh look, your guard dog’s awake,” Meg said, turning her attention from Dean to Jayme. “Not so tough now, are you?”

Jayme only smiled, one side of her mouth quirking. “Why don’t you come closer and say that, you smarmy little _semshara_?”

Meg sauntered over, Jayme meeting Dean’s gaze. Instead of the “get her, tear her damn head off” look she was expecting, he widened his eyes a little, shaking his head firmly.

“You’re awfully protective of these two. So who are they to you?” Meg asked, crouching down just out of reach of Jayme’s legs. “You don’t look anything like them, so you’re not their sister. Cousin, maybe? I mean, who else would hang out with these losers?”

“I’m a friend,” Jayme said, channeling all her anger and hate into her eyes. “Pity you obviously have no experience with that.”

“Oh, I’m so hurt. Is that the best you can do?” Meg leaned in. “You look like you want to eat me right now. So why don’t you? You’re more than you seem, aren’t you?”

“Untie my hands and I’ll show you.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she went over to Sam. “Looks like your weakness is the same as their dad’s; these two.” She sank down until she was straddling Sam’s legs. “And once he’s here, you’ll all be one big happy family and the daevas will slaughter you all, nice and slow and messy.”

“Why?” Sam asked, leaning back as she drew in close.

“Same reasons you do what you do—loyalty, love, like the love you had for Mommy . . . and Jess.”

Jayme reached back, dragging her sharpened nails over the single strand of rope that held her wrists together, unable to risk trying to break it. She held as still as she could as Meg continued to tease Sam, kissing along his neck while he tried to pull away, clearly repulsed. 

Apparently Dean had the same idea until a sound drew Meg’s attention. She went over to him, taking the knife he’d been using to try to cut his way free. Jayme froze, holding still and watching, waiting for the right moment. The rope had to be weakened enough for her to break it by now, it had to be.

Meg returned to Sam, teasingly asking him if he’d planned to distract her while Dean cut himself free; Jayme couldn’t help but smile as Sam informed her that he had a knife of his own, breaking his ropes and smashing his forehead into hers. Jayme ripped her own free and lunged, kicking out and connecting with the backs of Meg’s knees, knocking her to the floor.

“Sam! Get the altar!” Dean shouted. “Jayme, get over here and get me loose!”

Jayme paused, her hands hovering over Meg as Sam staggered by. It would be so easy to slash that fragile little neck, sever those irritating vocal cords once and for all, dig those unsettling eyes right out of her skull—

“Jayme!” Dean snapped. “Come on!”

Tearing herself away, she went to Dean, kneeling behind him and untying his wrists as Sam grabbed the altar, hurling the entire table and its contents over with a roar. Dean struggled to his feet as the shadows reappeared, grabbing Meg’s legs and dragging her across the floor as she shrieked. Jayme straightened, watching without emotion as Meg crashed through the window and plunged to the street below.

They joined Sam by the window, looking down. “I guess the daevas don’t like being bossed around.”

“Sam?” Dean said. “Next time you want to get laid, find a girl that’s not so buckets-o’-crazy, huh?”

“And if you don’t, next time please let me bite her?” Jayme said, patting Sam on the arm as she headed after Dean.

 

 

It was not unusual for motel room doors to open and admit various members of the Winchester family in various states of injury, and their current one was no exception. Sam was still carrying the bag filled with weapons, preferring caution to letting his guard down. Jayme couldn’t blame him; in seconds the daevas had torn all three of them open, Sam so severely that she could see muscle laid bare in his cheek.

They entered the dark room wearily, Dean immediately spotting a dark figure near the window. “Hey!” he barked. Sam closed the door and Jayme immediately shot into her beast form, a low growl rumbling through her. Dean reached over and turned on the light, throwing everything into relief except the figure by the door, who slowly turned.

Dean’s eyes went huge. “ . . . Dad?”

“Hey boys.” John Winchester broke into a smile as he looked at his sons, crossing the room to meet Dean. The two hugged tightly, Sam approaching a few moments later.

Sam bowed his head in a single nod. “Dad.”

“Hey Sam.” He turned, looking at Jayme, who was gripping both sides of the doorway.

Still in her beast form.

“Dad,” Dean said with a smile. “This is Jayme.”

“I, uh, I’m a—uh,” she stammered.

“You’re a neromancer,” John said.


	5. Chapter 5

“Wait a minute, you _know_ about them?” Dean said, unable to believe his ears, his head still spinning from the leap it had to make from trying to figure out how to explain Jayme to his father to the fact that Dad _knew_. From the expression on Sam’s face, it was clear he was thinking the same thing.

“Yeah. And don’t worry—I know she’s an ally.” He looked at Jayme. “I take it you’re the one who answered the phone that one morning.”

“And you’re the one who got smart first,” she said, returning to her human form.

“Dad, how do you know about neromancers?” Sam asked.

“Sam, later, okay?” Dean said. “He knows and he’s not about to shoot her. That’s the most important thing. Dad, it was a trap. I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Thought it might have been,” John replied. “Demon’s tried to stop me before. It knows I’m close, and that I’m going to kill it—not just send it back to hell, but actually kill it.”

Jayme moved away as the three of them talked. It was a personal scene, one that she didn’t want to interfere in. This was their business, and she had no part in it. But as Sam and John talked, moving closer, Dean stepped back until he and Jayme were touching shoulders. Evidently Dean wanted to give the pair a semi-private moment of their own.

“How’s the face?” he murmured.

“Still on my head,” she replied.

Sam and John had enough time for a real hug, one that seemed to reduce the size of the wall between them, when John was abruptly ripped away and hurled across the room, smashing into some cabinets and slamming to the floor.

“No!” Dean roared as something swept him off his feet, slamming him to the floor.

Jayme turned, trying to follow the shadows on the wall to find something to hit. She shot back into her beast form, snarling in fury as she tried to find a target.

She could see the wounds appearing on John’s chest and shoulder, but when she swiped with one of her huge arms it passed through nothing. Behind her she could hear Dean scream, his quickly drowned out by John’s. She roared helplessly as something tore into her side, her jaws snapping on nothing.

“ _Shut your eyes_!” Sam bellowed and the room flared bright white.

Pain shot through her head, spiking into her skull with blinding intensity. She covered her face, shrinking back into her human form, the fabric around her neck unrolling to cover her human limbs. She crawled over to John, grabbing him with one hand while she kept the other over her eyes.

“We gotta get outta here!” Dean shouted, crawling his way over. “Jayme, let me help you!”

“I got him!” she said, pulling John up with surprising strength. “Help me find the door!”

“Follow my voice!” Sam yelled.

Dean held onto his father’s shoulder as Jayme nearly carried him, scrambling from the room after Sam.

They exited, coughing, into the cool night air. Ducking down, they scrambled for the alley where the Impala and John’s truck were parked. They paused next to the car, all four of them panting, Sam, Dean, and Jayme sporting fresh wounds.

“You boys,” John gasped. “You’re beat to hell . . . ”

“It’s okay,” Sam panted. “We can take care of it. We need to get out of here; soon as that flare’s out they’ll come back.”

“Dad can’t come with us,” Dean said.

“What are you talking about?” Sam said. “We should stick together—”

“Sam, listen to me! We almost got Dad killed in there. Don’t you understand? They’re not gonna stop, they’re gonna try again. They’re gonna use us to get to him, I mean, Meg was right. Dad’s vulnerable when he’s with us. He’s—he’s stronger without us around.”

“But Jayme can help us!” Sam protested. “Think about it! Her strength—”

“Was useless in there,” Jayme said, reaching into her jacket and taking out her medical kit, which she’d stowed there as soon as they’d returned from the warehouse.

Sam looked at her. “ . . . what?”

“I swung and bit. Things I hit in my beast form tend to fall apart. Those things weren’t even fazed.” She took out one of her tools, pulling John’s coat open. “It was like I wasn’t even there.”

“She’s right,” John said, holding still as the gashes on his chest and shoulder slowly closed. “She’s strong, but this enemy is going to take more than brute strength to take down. Sammy, this fight is just starting,” he said, leaning down to allow her to heal the cuts on his head. “And we are all gonna have a part to play.” He looked at Jayme. “All of us.”

“I’ve patched you up as best I can,” Jayme said. “It’ll save you having to self-stitch.”

“Your people are handy to have around,” John said. He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “For now you’ve gotta trust me, son. You’ve gotta let me go.”

“Dad, no . . . ”

“Sam, you have to trust me. Our time is gonna come.”

“Keep in touch this time?”

“I will. That’s a promise.”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder and nodded.

For a moment everything was silent, the three Winchesters sharing a long look. Jayme stood in the middle, for the first time not feeling like she was on the outside. It was a feeling that brought not relief or happiness, but a strange forboding, as if she’d been drawn into something too big to understand, beyond fear into vast darkness. But if that’s where Sam and Dean were headed, she was going to go there with them.

“Take care of each other, boys,” John said. “And you,” he said, pointing at Jayme. “Make sure they do the same for you.”

“They already do, in every way,” she whispered, watching him head to his vehicle.

“We’d better get going,” Sam said after their father’s truck had disappeared around the corner.

“Yeah, you guys do resemble a couple of piles of shredded meat right now,” Jayme said. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here and I’ll patch you up.”

“Sounds like the best offer of the night,” Dean said, getting behind the wheel. He pointed the car straight out of town, none of them seeing the form of Meg standing in the shadows, watching them leave.

“Things just got more interesting,” she murmured. “Neromancer.”

 

 

“Shark’s gills, totally.” Dean handed Sam a towel. “Look, they’re even red ins—”

“Dean, would you either shut the hell up or actually do something useful?” Sam snapped. Jayme was stretched out on her side, a set of three neat slashes in her flesh below her ribs where she’d been clawed by the daeva. Sam was sitting next to her, preparing to close them.

“Hey, I got the towel, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, real helpful,” Sam growled.

“How did you not notice?” Dean said, sticking his hands in his pockets as he watched Sam guide the slashes closed. Damn his brother was getting good at it. They’d taken care of their own wounds first, Sam noticing the blood seeping through Jayme’s shirt as she was finishing up with his face.

“I didn’t know they were this bad,” she said. “They hit me in my beast form so I thought they were just a couple scratches.”

“Tough girl,” Dean said, not without affection.

“I do have one question; why didn’t you want me to change forms? Back at the warehouse. My neck was untied and she was close, but you shook your head. Why?”

“I wanted to keep at least one ace up my sleeve,” Dean replied. “Why let her know that you were anything more than a really bad-tempered chick?”

“Makes sense. Finding out that your dad knows who we are was enough of a surprise for me.”

“Think he’ll ever explain that, Dean?” Sam asked.

“You know Dad and his need-to-know.”

“You know, you guys never told me,” Jayme said.

“Told you what?”

“That your dad’s not the hard-nosed authoritarian jerk you made him out to be.”

“That wasn’t typical,” Sam said. “Believe me.”

“You two are idiots, you know that?”

Dean looked at Sam, sharing the confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t even know a damn good thing when you have it.” She gripped the bedcovers as Sam neared her ribs. “I’m not blind or stupid. Those two or three minutes in that room—you know, before the daevas ruined the Hallmark Moment—that . . . he showed you more love and attention than I would get from Adha in a year. Maybe ever.”

“Jayme,” Sam said gently. “That’s not the whole picture. Everything we’ve told you about him is true.”

“Some of it,” Dean said.

“Fine, some of it. When I wanted to play soccer he hit the roof because I didn’t want to learn bowhunting. Before tonight, the last time we talked was a huge fight when I left for Stanford. Our whole lives he raised us to be warriors, never even gave us a chance to be normal. Didn’t your dad ever get mad when you didn’t want to do what he wanted?”

“No, because I didn’t have the strength to defy him,” she said. “And maybe you’re right. But Sam, he _never_ looked at me like your dad did tonight. Never.” She sat up, pulling her shirt down. “I just think . . . maybe you should realize that you don’t have it as crappy as you thought.”

Dean turned his attention elsewhere like he always did when emotions were brought up. “Never?” he finally said.

“What?”

“You never stood up to him?”

She smiled ruefully. “I wasn’t lucky enough to have a sibling who actually cared enough to try to protect me. My sister was . . . more like a snitch.”

Dean just shook his head. “Please tell me they’re both dead.”

She laughed. “Well, Adha is, and I’d be lying if I said I was sorry. Lharessa is still alive.”

“Have you talked to her recently?” Sam asked.

“After Adha’s funeral. She was polite, expressed continued disapproval with my whole life, and she apologized for not being a better sister. Apparently Adha dominated her just as much as he did me. He was just more subtle about it.”

“Man,” Dean said. “When you put it like that, Sam and Dad and me are like the model family, huh?”

“Nah, you’re just as screwed up as anyone else,” she said. “No one has the perfect family. But it’s been my experience that when people stick together, the imperfections don’t really matter.” She leaned over, kissing Sam on the top of the head, then went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

“Wonder what that was all about,” Dean said.

“She’s lonely,” Sam said. “And I can understand why. I can’t imagine growing up with you bullying me.”

“What are you talking about? I give you a hard time all the time.”

“Maybe, but it was never you and Dad against me. You were . . . kinda there all the times he wasn’t, you know?”

Dean made a dismissive noise. “Yeah, well, you’re still a pain in the ass.”

“So does this mean if I leave you’ll give Jayme a hard time?”

“She’s not you, Sam, and I wouldn’t trade you for her. But it is nice having her around watching our backs with those big fangs of hers. You heard what Dad said; she’s a part of this now.”

Sam was taken aback. Everything about the hunt for the demon had been about family. It was their business, their loss, their fight. Revenge, retribution, justice, call it what you would, but it was Winchester business; that’s what Dad and Dean had drilled into him his whole life. Dean most of all had been adamant about it, which probably accounted for most of his blind allegiance.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said, picking up on Sam’s thoughts. “She bled for us, Sam. That changes things.”

“So now you have a goofy little sister in addition to your nerdy, pain-in-the-ass little brother?” Sam said, grinning.

“Don’t start, Sam. I’m not taking on a sister who can bench press a Toyota, okay? Close friend. That’s all I’m giving you.”

“Thanks! I’ll take it!” Jayme shouted from the bathroom.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. “Someday, Sam, I will remember that she can hear through doors.”

“You’d better start remembering soon before you start spilling some real secrets, like the time you—” Sam started, the rest of his words muffled by the pillow Dean socked him with.


End file.
